


Passenger Seat

by notsafeforworse



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: (but very light), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bordering On Straight Up Non Consent, Casual misogyny, Child Abuse, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emetophilia, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Light Bloodplay/Injury, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Parent/Child Incest, Piss, Sexual Abuse, Somnophilia, There's pee in here, Throat Fingering, Using Underwear As A Gag, i've never written pee before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsafeforworse/pseuds/notsafeforworse
Summary: “Oh, honey…” he murmurs, and he pushes the stick back further until Ciel is making little gurgling chokes on sticky syrup coating the back of his throat. “Oh baby… Does that taste good?”He can’t nod like this, only try and speak with his tongue pinned down by Vincent’s fingers too large in his little mouth, and look up pleading with those baby blue eyes, wide and shining wet with the threat of tears. He looks like he’s pleading for more, little fucking slut. “Yeah, you love the taste, don’t you?” Vincent pulls the candy out with a sneer, letting it drop on the ground. “I’ve got something that tastes better, baby. Just for you…”Modern AU Black Butler VinCiel, in which Vincent has a migraine, and Ciel is a convenient way to take that out on something.
Relationships: Ciel Phantomhive/Vincent Phantomhive
Comments: 24
Kudos: 121





	1. Lollipop

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to OverexcitedDragon, without whom this would have probably sat in my WIPs folder for the rest of time.
> 
> This is a vent piece. Please mind the tags.

If there’s one thing Vincent fucking hates, it’s children’s birthday parties.

Mostly because listening to kids scream all day isn’t really his idea of a good time. It gives him a damn migraine and if one more mother sidles up to him asking him about Ciel like they’re actually interested, he might snap. It’s not like the wedding ring isn’t pretty damn obvious on his finger, but apparently to most women it’s invisible.

Or it doesn’t matter. Which, sure, it doesn’t, but that’s only when there’s men involved.

He’s damn glad when he can finally drag Ciel and his bag of pilfered candies out of there and into the relative safety of his car, away from the thump of shitty Kidz Bop remixes and tittering laughter. “Did you have a good time, honey?” he asks, pulling off his rings. It’s asked more out of politeness than actual curiosity. He can be a good dad sometimes. Take an interest in his son's endeavours and all that. Honestly, he deserves an award.

Ciel gives him a big grin, unwrapping a lollipop to pop it in his mouth. “I guess so. I mostly go for the food.” He admits, and Vincent frowns slightly as he fishes his driving gloves out of the glove compartment.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. If you drop anything on my seats, you’re not eating anything unless I feed it to you.”

“Did you see the cake?” Ciel asks, as if Vincent hasn’t said a fucking thing at all. “It was huge!”

“Mhm.” Vincent rubs his temple, trying to kill the ache that’s settled right in it. He’s starting to think that maybe nothing but a glass of whiskey was a bad idea, and that’s quickly chased by the thought of what a _good_ idea another glass and a couple of painkillers would be. “Sure was.” His wedding ring is slipped back on his ring finger, and the other slides up on his pinkie on the other hand, catching the light on the shimmering blue facets that dance around the roof.

“I was going to sneak a second piece, but I got in trouble with Tyler’s mom.”

“Ciel, your _mouth_ \--”

“I don’t see what the big deal--”

The lollipop slips from Ciel’s lips, and he makes a soft _oops_ as it falls, tumbles in the air. Landing flat side down on the car seat. Both of them are quiet, staring at it, a unified movement as they both raise their heads to look at each other. Ciel’s eyes wide and worried while Vincent’s are dull.

The kid fidgets in his seat, shifting, tugging at his clothes, curling up his hands. Doing anything but touching the lollipop that’s leaving a blue stain on the leather seats. “... I’m sorry da--”

Vincent shakes his head, reaching out slow and careful. His hand goes between Ciel’s coltish little legs, picking the offending piece of candy up to twirl it between his fingers. “Ciel. I told you not to talk with your mouth full.”

“I know, I’m sor--”

“And I told you. That if you dropped anything… I’d feed it to you. Didn’t I?” Ciel fidgets again, keeps his head down and his eyes averted. Doesn’t answer the question. “ _Didn’t I_ , Ciel?”

“... Mhm. Yes, daddy.”

He can only sigh, glancing out the car windows to look around the street. They were the first to leave, and the party wasn’t meant to end for another couple of hours at least, so it was mostly empty. Mostly safe from prying eyes that might jump to some bad conclusions and run their mouths.

Vincent’s hand wraps around Ciel’s jaw, and it’s not a tight grip. He doesn’t want to _hurt_ the boy, his little baby with his bird bones all delicate and fresh young skin already turning red under the pressure of his fingers. He just wants to keep him in place, coax that jaw to open up so he can rub the lollipop against Ciel’s tongue to paint it blue. All sugar sweet, making Ciel salivate from the taste and try to work his tongue around it.

“Oh, honey…” He murmurs, and he pushes the stick back further until Ciel is making little gurgling chokes on sticky syrup coating the back of his throat. “Oh baby… Does that taste good?”

He can’t nod like this, only try and speak with his tongue pinned down by Vincent’s fingers too large in his little mouth, and look up pleading with those baby blue eyes, wide and shining wet with the threat of tears. He looks like he’s pleading for more, little fucking slut. “Yeah, you love the taste, don’t you?” Vincent pulls the candy out with a sneer, tossing it out the window. “I’ve got something that tastes better, baby. Just for you…”

Two of his fingers jam themselves into Ciel’s mouth. It’s a tight fit between his baby teeth, but Vincent doesn’t give the kid an inch, shifting his other hand’s grip to the back of his hair, holding his head firm in place as he fucks his mouth down to the knuckle. Ciel’s choking on leather and his own spit, his tiny hands gripping Vincent’s wrist and tugging uselessly. Gagging at the taste, all musk and sweat and dirt from use.

“Look at you, baby…” His fingertips are all the way in Ciel’s throat, rubbing gently and making him dry retch against them, worse the more he struggles, but he’s too inexperienced at this to know that yet. “Fuck, look at you…” Those soft, pink lips all wrapped around Vincent’s knuckles, and his eyes are dripping tears now, squeezing shut. “You just do whatever daddy wants you to do. Keep your mouth open, Ciel.” It’s almost sick how the way Ciel whines makes his dick twitch eagerly, but not yet. Fuck. Not yet.

That comes later, when Ciel’s sweet little throat is all warmed up.

Instead, he pulls his fingers out to their tips, and the little brat closes his mouth trying to catch his breath, so Vincent lets them hook on Ciel’s jaw, drag it down wider until he whines. “Dah-hy…” he can’t talk properly, blue-stained drool sliding out the corners of his mouth because Vincent’s not quite nice enough to give his baby a chance to swallow. “Ih _hurrs…!”_

“Oh, it hurts?” Vincent asks, and his voice is dark enough that Ciel flinches, shuts up and shuts his eyes tight. “It _hurts_. Maybe you should keep your fucking mouth open then.”

When the pressure lets up on Ciel’s jaw, he doesn’t close his mouth. Smart little thing. He always did pick up concepts quickly, and it’s one of the things Vincent loves best about his prodigal son. A third finger presses in, insistent, ignoring how Ciel gags and tries to buck his head, and Vincent gets a little heady with his movements because his fingers aren’t fucking into Ciel’s mouth so much as his hand gripping his baby’s hair is forcing his head up and down.

“Fuck…” Vincent breathes, and all Ciel can do is make garbled sounds that might be pleads, it’s hard to tell when he’s dripping blue drool down onto his chest. Getting those stains out later will be a bitch.

Ciel’s paying for that.

Getting in his pinkie is more of a struggle. Ciel’s mouth is stretched enough as it is, and yeah, Vincent could make it easier on him if he took his ring off, but when it cuts the corner of Ciel’s mouth to push in, his balls fucking spasm, and the blood helps slick up the leather of his gloves so he can work his fingers easier. It makes Ciel cry, though, a guttural sort of sob that’s all pain and no pleasure. Vincent’s libido is too strong to let any sort of paternal instinct kick in right now.

“God, you’re such a slut.” he growls, finally letting go of Ciel’s hair. Not like he can move his head anyway, with the ring catching on his lip, he’s held completely in place by the fingers trembling inside his throat.

And it means that Vincent can pull up Ciel’s shirt, and the kid can’t do a fucking thing when he leans in to suck _hard_ on one of those soft little kitten nubs except _scream_. It’s a good sound right now, muffled, but Vincent could swear he can feel it vibrating against his fingers, and if he’s not careful he’s going to come from this alone. His teeth wrap around the rosy mound, turning it a deeper flush as he tugs hard, making Ciel whine and shudder. The boy can’t seem to _stop_ shaking.

“Oh baby…” Vincent’s voice has gone soft again, gentle, and he’s running his thumb around the other nub in soft little circles. This time he gets kitten mewls. “You’re so sensitive… Oh, baby boy, shh, don’t cry…”

Ciel sniffles a few times, his tiny hands curling into fists at his sides. Like he wants to wipe his eyes, but he’s worried about what Vincent might do. It’s almost enough to make him pity the kid. “Don’t cry,” Vincent repeats, dislodging the ring from Ciel’s mouth. Nothing more than that though. “There’s no reason to cry, baby. You know daddy wouldn’t hurt you”

He’s decent enough to give the kid a second to collect himself while he looks around, hit with the realisation that maybe the middle of a suburban fucking street isn’t the best place to be shoving his fingers down his son’s throat. Every bitch in an SUV had their opinions about how you should discipline your kids, and the last thing he needed was one of them sticking their nose in.

But. Fuck. By the time they get home, Ciel’s throat will close back up, and he’s not patient enough to work it open again. Grumbling in irritation, his fingers pull out from Ciel’s mouth. “We’re gonna get your home, baby, okay? But first, I need you to take your pants off.”

Ciel makes the most distressed face Vincent’s ever seen between his coughing and retching, trying to catch his breath. His throat is still too sore to speak properly, so he shakes his head.

“Ciel, don’t fuck around with me right now.”

“Daddy…” that soft voice is hoarse, barely audible. “Please--”

Rolling his eyes, Vincent shifts in the driver’s seat, dragging Ciel’s tiny hips down until he’s practically laying down in his seat, yelling in protest and squirming to get out of Vincent’s grip. “Stay _still_ , Ciel, for fuck sake--” It takes longer than he and his migraine would like to unzip Ciel’s little cutoff shorts, yanking them down, and the moment he does, the car goes dead silent.

Vincent’s eyes move slow, agonizingly slow, up Ciel’s bare stomach, his chest rising and falling with exerted breath, up to his baby blue eyes that are wide with fear now, his bloody bottom lip quivering.

“Ciel,” he asks very calmly. “Did you come?”

Ciel’s gaze darts down, looking at the floor. “... No, daddy…”

“Are you _lying to me,_ Ciel?”

The kid flinches. Tugs the hem of his shirt down over his chest, pulls like he’s trying to cover himself with it. “... I didn’t mean to--”

Vincent grips one of the boy’s ankles, practically pulling him upside down, holding him up so he can pull those soiled and stained underwear off him while Ciel shrieks and thrashes. “What have I told you about keeping things from me?” He asks, and when Ciel doesn’t answer, he drops him, lets his hips slam back down and his feet hit the dashboard. “That wasn’t a fucking rhetorical question, Ciel!”

“I’m sorry!” He sobs, trying to shift back upright, and Vincent chuckles, balling the underwear up in his bloody hand.

“Oh, you will be, baby. Open your filthy fucking mouth.”

Ciel shakes his head wildly, purses his lips together and clenches his jaw shut, like a fucking _brat_. Trying to get a rise out of Vincent. Well, it’s fucking working, and he’s done playing the good father. Vincent’s fingers pinch Ciel’s nose shut, cutting off his air.

Their eyes meet, Ciel’s glare hot and pissy, but Vincent’s is cold and hard, because he knows he’s winning this no matter what the outcome, because Ciel either opens his mouth like a good boy, or Vincent is saved the hassle of having to warm the kid’s throat up because he sure can’t fucking gag when he’s unconscious. So he watches as that fire dies down, and turns watery, shimmering, _pleading_ , until finally Ciel gasps for air and Vincent shoves his come-stained underwear down his throat.

“You keep that in until we get home,” He growls, wrapping his palm over Ciel’s mouth so he can’t spit it out instinctively. “And put your fucking pants on.”

He doesn’t pull his hand away until Ciel nods, shaking his head as he starts the car. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Ciel shaking, pulling up his shorts and buttoning them up again slowly, so goddamn slow, like he’s moving through tar. He always gets tired after coming, he _knows_ that.

It takes about ten minutes of driving in silence before Vincent reaches out, puts his hand on Ciel’s thigh and rubs his leg with his thumb gently. “Hey, kid… I’m sorry I snapped at you.” Ciel flinches, but he doesn’t say anything back. Not even a sound of acknowledgement. “You know how much daddy hates it when you keep things from him. If you come, I need to know, okay?”

Finally, he sees Ciel nod. “Good boy. You know daddy just wants what’s best for you, right?” Another nod. Vincent squeezes his thigh, lets go to put both hands back on the wheel, sighing softly. “You’re a good boy, Ciel. You’re always so good for daddy.”

Rachel’s car isn’t in the driveway, which means she’s out doing whatever it is the women in this fucking town do. _Not_ taking her child to a birthday party like she was _meant_ to do. Probably riding Sebastian’s dick. It doesn’t really matter right now, because it means the house is empty, and he can pull up into the garage without being disturbed.

Vincent’s nonchalant when he parks the car, taking off his seatbelt so he can turn and face Ciel properly. “You know you’re going to have to be punished for lying, right?” he asks, and Ciel nods very slow, reluctant. Defeated and pretty. “But you’ve been a good boy… so you can pick. Do you want to get spanked, or do you want the pegs?”

It’s definitely soothing his headache to watch the kid’s eyes go all wide and terrified again, darting around, mouth trying to work around the cloth in his mouth. “If you don’t have an answer by the time I take this thing out, I’m doing both.” Vincent warns, grabbing Ciel’s jaw to pry the underwear loose. They’re soaked, dripping spit down Ciel’s chin, over his cheeks as Vincent smears it across his skin for good measure.

“Daddy--” He’s got that tone in his voice like he’s about to start pleading. Saying _no._ Vincent fucking hates that.

“Last chance, baby.”

Ciel lets out an honest to god _whine_ , looking around desperately as if the right answer is written on the walls somewhere. “The pegs, the pegs daddy, please don’t hit me--”

“Oh, baby boy…” Vincent wraps his arms around Ciel’s tiny little waist, pulls him across the seat and into his lap so his back is resting against the steering wheel. “Shh, honey, I’m not gonna hit you…” He runs his hand through Ciel’s hair as the boy hiccups on sobs, nodding overtired and exhausted. He can nap when Vincent’s done with him, little brat.

Nudging the car door open, Vincent scoops Ciel up into the crook of his elbow, so small and fragile, feather light, that he can just hold him on his hip. “Let’s get you upstairs, okay? We’ll get the pegs out of your toybox.”

Nodding, Ciel tucks his face into the crook of Vincent’s neck, clinging to his shirt with tight fists. Clingy little baby, he’d always been so fussy and needy for his daddy’s attention. Vincent can’t help but smile as he strokes the kid’s hair. “Don’t fall asleep on me. We’re not done.” he reminds him, and Ciel murmurs a soft _yes daddy_ that makes Vincent’s heart melt and his dick harden.

He learned pretty quick not to fuck Ciel in his and Rachel’s bed, because whenever Rachel found the stains, she’d fly off the fucking handle about how Vincent was cheating on her with another woman which -- okay, hilarious considering, but also a pain in the ass because it meant he had to spend the next few weeks bribing her with chocolates and flowers and other romantic gestures to get her to calm down. So now, they fuck in Ciel’s little kid’s double bed, and Tanaka keeps his mouth shut about the mess.

Vincent’s not a _cruel_ man, he’s considerate enough. He grabs one of the pillows from off the bed, why Ciel insisted on sleeping with so many pillows and stuffed animals, he’d never understand, and he sets it down for the kids knees. “Up you get, baby…”

His little head raises, eyes all bleary, tired and salt-crusted, barely aware of what’s happening. That’s just fine, Vincent thinks, pulling out a little chest from under Ciel’s bed and sitting down on the bed’s edge. Just fine. The clamps will wake him up.

“Get you your knees, honey. You can undo daddy’s pants on your own.”

Slowly, Ciel goes down. Much as Vincent would love to see those little knees all scuffed up from getting on the floor for him, they have church tomorrow, and he doesn’t really want Rachel complaining about how Ciel’s Sunday outfit makes him look disheveled. Those little fingers are all shaky and uncertain, fumbling with the button. It gives Vincent plenty of time to pick the clamps out of Ciel’s toybox and wrap the chain around his waist.

“You’re doing so good, baby.” he praises when Ciel gets the button undone, unzips Vincent’s fly. Tiny fingers part the mouth of his pants, peeling them open like flower petals, but what’s waiting for him inside is anything but pretty. Vincent doesn’t have the patience for Ciel to pull his dick out, so he does it for him instead, letting it hang between them. Watching as the boy licks his lips, wetting dried blood, and looks up at his daddy, waiting for permission like the good little slut he is.

“Go on…” Vincent murmurs. There’s a moment where Ciel’s eyes flicker to the clamps in either of Vincent’s hands, but slowly, hesitantly, he obeys, wrapping his mouth around Vincent’s head, and Vincent curses low at the feeling. It’s tempting to shove Ciel down, so tempting -- and he might just fucking do it, but he wants to see how far the little brat can get on his own.

He _does_ use his hands to drag Ciel closer, with less room to come up off his dick. Positions him nice and near until when Ciel pulls back, he can’t even get Vincent’s head out of his mouth, and _that’s_ where he wants him when he reaches for the clamps. Ciel squirms at the sight, tries to move back, but Vincent wraps his legs around him to keep him in place. “Oh no you don’t. You’re in trouble, remember?”

The first clamp opens, and Vincent tugs gently at Ciel’s tiny little rosy nub, making the boy moan around his dick. He waits until Ciel is trembling to position the cold metal on either side of that mound, and slowly, achingly slow, closes it. By the time he lets go, the kid’s whimpering, grinding against nothing, making his head bob up and down on Vincent’s dick in shallow thrusts. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Vincent purrs. He knows full well the dull, unrelenting ache those things give, the pain that builds and builds, and when he takes them off--

Well. It’s a good thing Rachel’s not home.

With the chain wrapped around his back, and the other clamp following suit to pinch at the other side of Ciel’s chest, he’s helplessly trapped in place. Going forward only shoves Vincent’s dick down Ciel’s throat, and going backwards makes those clamps pull painful and raw against his chest. “There you go… what a good boy. You’ll take such good care of your daddy, won’t you…?”

Ciel doesn’t answer, because he can’t, but he certainly chokes and gags when Vincent rolls his hips up into his mouth. “Come on, honey, if you don’t move, I’ll do it for you.”

Honestly, he’s closer than he’d like after how hot and bothered Ciel got him in the car, and the only thing keeping him from spilling down the kid’s throat is that Ciel’s sloppy and doesn’t get deep enough to make any of his sucking truly satisfying. His tiny little kitten tongue is too small to roll and curl, but he tries, and the earnest effort is enough to win him a few low groans from Vincent, reward him with a hand stroking through his hair and filthy praise.

“You love the taste of daddy’s cock, don’t you? Look at you… so fucking greedy. You want me to fill your little throat, don’t you?” He moans when Ciel tries to push down further, feels himself brush the back of his throat, only for Ciel to try and come up gagging, and fall to cries and sobs when he can’t get Vincent out of his mouth and the clamps stretch out his little nubs that are growing purple. “Oh _fuck_ , baby…” Vincent can’t stop trembling at the sight of Ciel panting around his dick, drool spilling down it in fat, filthy droplets, tears falling from those long lashes of his. “Fuck, you look so pretty like this--”

And then he can’t help himself. He’s grabbing Ciel’s hair with one hand, his jaw with the other, holding his head in a vice grip with nowhere to go as he lifts his hips and starts fucking into his mouth.

The chain rattles with each thrust of his hips, making the clamps bounce, making Ciel sob and choke and _cry_ like a little bitch around Vincent. All his sounds are muffled by Vincent’s dick forcing its way down Ciel’s throat, he could swear that he can see the bulge of his head moving up and down the thin skin on the boy’s neck, and it’s such a heady fucking sensation. He’s so _tight_ , convulsing around the length of him in hot pulses that are so much better than anything else he’s shoved it into before.

“Oh my god, _Ciel_ …” he yanks the kid up off his knees, holding all his weight to keep him down flush at his base as he comes, and he’s so fucking _deep_ down Ciel’s throat that he has no choice but to swallow everything his daddy has to give. Ciel’s hands are clawing at Vincent, making kitten scratches that aren’t enough to draw blood, but they leave angry red marks over his skin that sting, and still Vincent holds him down, forces him to stay in place until he’s sure he’s going soft in Ciel’s throat.

The sound it makes when he pulls out is wet, obscene, followed closely by Ciel coughing as air is finally permitted back into his lungs. And because, technically, he _is_ getting punished, Vincent doesn’t give him a chance to catch his breath. Both the clamps are released, sudden, making Ciel _scream_ out and fall to his hands and knees at Vincent’s feet.

Gasping. Choking. All culminating in him throwing up Vincent’s come on the carpet.

“Shit--” Vincent’s up on his feet almost immediately, crouching beside Ciel with a hand on his back rubbing gentle circles. “Oh honey, oh baby… Shh, it’s okay… It’s okay, I’ve got you…” Ciel practically falls into him, trying to curl up in Vincent’s lap, root into him. Bury himself down in his daddy’s strong and warm embrace as Vincent wraps his arms around him. “I’ve got you, baby…” He picks Ciel up like that, all curled up small and fragile like a baby bird, lays down on the bed with him tucked safe in his arms. “You did so good, baby boy, so good… You can rest now, okay? Daddy’s got you.”

Ciel makes a vulnerable little sound as he clings to Vincent’s shirt, and Vincent sighs, petting his head.

“Daddy’s got you…”


	2. Sunday Suit

Sunday is without a doubt the worst day of the week. It always starts at six am, and who the fuck wants to wake up at six am on a  _ weekday _ , but it doesn’t get any better because whenever Vincent tries to catch another five minutes, Rachel always gets on his ass. Yelling at him as she pulls on her dress that they don’t have time for his shit, they’re going to be late, and what kind of example is this setting for Ciel? 

So he always gets out of bed, murmurs passive platitudes of “yes dear” and “I know, honey, you’re right” and “sorry, sweetheart” that are about as empty as his balls after he spilled down Ciel’s throat yesterday.

A quick shower ( _ quick _ , because Rachel will start up another lecture about them being late if he takes too long) and he can put on his suit to blend in with the rest of the rich pricks hoping that showing up to listen to an old man complain will somehow get them into heaven.  _ Like hell _ . If there is an afterlife, Vincent’s in too much shit now to really care where he ends up. At least he’s going to be dragging the kid with him.

“Tanaka getting him dressed?” he asks, trying to knot his stupid tie. Usually Tanaka would do it himself, so Rachel sighs and moves over to loop the thick silk knot for him. They really need more help.

“He should be having breakfast by now.”

“In his Sunday suit? It’s white.”

“Ciel is  _ ten _ , he can eat without making a mess.” Rachel says with a tight frown.  _ Tell that to my fucking car seat. _ This isn’t something that he wants to push right now, though, not when he’s been wiggling his way out of church for the past few weeks. It was good to go at least once a month to keep Rachel satisfied.

The fact they’re going on a week Sebastian is out of town is just a bonus.

The kid is finishing up eating when they come downstairs, chewing on a piece of toast, dressed in his little Sunday suit all white and pressed, fresh socks held up by the tiniest little fucking garters Vincent’s ever seen. It’s a nice enough sight that he almost doesn’t mind the migraine he’s starting to get. “Morning, Ciel. Ready for church?”

“Mhm. Gotta wash my hands.”

“Good boy. Hop in the back seat of the car when you’re done, alright?” Vincent busies himself with pouring out a cup of coffee for himself, and for Rachel one of those stupid detox teas that don’t actually do anything but make you shit. And  _ that’s _ worth it for the kiss on the side of the neck that he gets in thanks. Maybe if he can sit through church, he’ll get to see the lingerie she’s wearing under that dress.

“I’m glad you got the day off today. Thank you, Vincent…”

“Yeah…” he shifts the cup of tea over towards her, shrugging. “You’ve been mentioning that you wanted us all to go to church together.”  _ Bitching and moaning nonstop _ . He smiles and that seems to make Rachel happy, so he gives her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll go get the car started. Can you bring my coffee out when it’s brewed?”

“Of course.” It’s a shame. She’s got such a great body. Then she opens her mouth or fucks his best friend. He’s not looking forward to this fucking sermon.

*****

He can’t stand this fucking sermon.

The pew is uncomfortable as hell, for one. It feels like a solid board under his ass, and it digs right into the curve of his spine. Rachel doesn’t notice with her picture perfect posture, but Vincent wants to die every time he slouches just slightly. And it’s  _ boring  _ as hell, too. Something about men going somewhere and they did things and it was good. Great. He could be working right now, or drinking with Lau, and that would also be good, but no one’s written a fucking book about him.

Every time he tries to tap his feet, Rachel steps her sharp heels right down into his toes, so he tries to tap his fingers and she steps on him  _ harder _ . Thank god Ciel’s on his other side, with how much he’s fidgeting, she’d probably smack him for wriggling around so much.

The priest fucking drones on, and on,  _ and on _ , and Vincent is about ready to shoot himself in the head just to give him something to really talk about when Ciel tugs on his pant leg gently. “Daddy…” he keeps his voice quiet, because Rachel hates it when he talks during the sermons. Vincent glances down at those soft baby blues, irritation only making his migraine worse, and Ciel must see that because he cringes slightly, looks down at the pew. “I need to pee…”

“Fuck sake…” He mutters the words under his breath. “Why didn’t you go before we left?”   
  
“I didn’t need to go  _ then _ .” Ciel protests, little baby lips making a pout. That fucking slut knows exactly how to tempt Vincent into giving in. All this bullshit about God and sin, but the only fucking devil Vincent knows is his whore of a son.

Rubbing at his face, he can’t do much but sigh and shift over to lean in toward Rachel. “I’m taking the kid out.”

“Are you serious--?”   
  
“He needs to go.”   
  
“And he needs you to take him? Whatever, Vincent, just go.”

Clearly there’s no merciful God because he hasn’t seen fit to reward Vincent’s patience and shut his wife the fuck up yet. His grip fixes around Ciel’s little wrist, too tight, dragging the kid up to his feet to move him out from the aisle and away from the dirty looks that earns them. Like this was how he planned to spend his morning when he got dragged out of bed at six am.  _ Fuck off. _

The building doesn’t have any fucking toilets because -- of _ course _ it doesn’t. Nothing in this fucking world wants to make Vincent’s life easy. “Come on.” he snaps, dragging Ciel around the back of the building. His tiny steps stumble, making small hops like a bird behind him to try and keep up.

“Daddy, you’re going too  _ fast _ .” He protests, and it’s quickly followed by a confused little sound at the back of his throat. “The cafe’s across the road--”

“I’m not paying for shit coffee just so you can  _ pee _ Ciel, you can do it outside.”

“I don’t wanna!” The kid tries to pull against Vincent’s hold on his arm, and he’s not fucking dealing with this shit today, not when he had to fight through a hangover and put on this fucking suit to get dragged along to Rachel’s bullshit and  _ keep up appearances _ . Whatever that means, it’s not like the whole fucking town doesn’t know she’s fucking Sebastian behind his back.

Suffice to say, by the time the get around the back of the church,  _ yeah _ , Vincent’s pretty fucking frustrated, and  _ sure _ , maybe he shouldn’t be taking that out on the kid, but Ciel’s tantrum stops pretty damn quick when Vincent pushes him up against the brick wall and leans in close to his face. “Ciel. We’re here for your mom, because church is important to her. I’m not going to let you throw a tantrum right now, so if you don’t pee, daddy will  _ make you. _ Got it?”   
  
He’s got it. The kid’s eyes are welling up with tears, and his bottom lip is starting to quiver because he’s close to crying, so Vincent can pretty safely say he’s  _ got it _ . Slowly, Ciel starts to undo his shorts, making hitched little sobs as he pulls them down just enough that his little cock falls out. He looks up at Vincent, blinking a few times before his patience runs out and he runs a hand through his hair.  _ “What, Ciel?” _

“I can’t do it when you’re watching…” he murmurs.

The thin tether holding Vincent’s patience snaps.

Ciel yelps and starts to yell protests when he’s pulled off the wall, a hand on the back of his neck making him bend over while Vincent bites his glove off the other. “Shut the fuck up.” he growls between gritted teeth. “You want someone to come out and see you peeing out here?”

“No!” he sobs, shaking his head. “I can do it, daddy, stop it--”

“Will you stop complaining? I’m trying to  _ help _ you here, you could use your fucking manners, Ciel.” Whine whine  _ whine  _ with this bitch. It’s not like Vincent was making him suck his cock this time, he was trying to do something  _ nice _ for the kid and this is how he behaves. When did he bring up such a fucking brat?

  
With his free hand, he drags down Ciel’s shorts and his underwear, shoving them off his hips and letting them fall at his feet. There better not be stains on that shit, Rachel will bitch his ear off if the white of his Sunday best gets dirty even though it’s Tanaka who’ll clean it up. “Here.” He presses two of his fingers up against Ciel’s mouth. “Wet daddy’s fingers and shut up.”

For once, he doesn’t have to get the kid to listen to him -- those soft pink lips part and wrap around Vincent’s fingertips, sucking at them lightly with his tongue lapping at the pads. “There you go…” All the anger fades out of Vincent’s voice, turning to a soft and soothing murmur. “That’s it… You’re being such a good boy, Ciel.” He could be pretty cute when he actually did what Vincent told him. Especially the faces he makes when those fingers shove themselves in deeper, making him gag. That was actually doing  _ wonders _ to improve his mood, watching him struggle like that. Too bad he didn’t bring the kid out here to choke on his dick.

“Alright, don’t get greedy.” He scolds, pulling his fingers out from Ciel’s throat. The kid starts coughing and panting for breath, having finished his job of getting Vincent’s fingers nice and wet, slick with the slimy, thick sort of spit that would make shoving his fingers in easier. Ciel must guess Vincent’s intentions pretty quick, because he whimpers when both fingertips press up against the tiny pucker of his ass at once.

“Daddy… Daddy, no, please go slowly… Please… One at a time,  _ please _ \--!”

“Does it seem like we have time for that, Ciel? Don’t fucking scream, got it? You don’t wanna disturb everyone inside.” He’s kind enough to take the precaution of shifting his grip from the back of Ciel’s neck to over his mouth, holding his head up and his back in a tight arch as his fingers shove in roughly to the first knuckle. A good precaution because of *course* Ciel screams into his open palm, tightens up his hungry little hole and only makes it harder for Vincent to get his fingers inside. “Shit,  _ baby boy _ ... Shh, relax, it’s okay… Daddy’s got you… Daddy’s gonna help you…”

He doesn’t pull his hand away to grip the boy’s jaw until Ciel’s sounds turn from broken sobs to choked up and pained moans of pleasure, quiet enough that they won’t alert everyone in a ten foot radius that Vincent is trying to push his fingers down to the knuckle in his son. If the fucking single mothers at the kid’s party wouldn’t be too understanding, he’s pretty sure the good Christians of the town won’t remember that ‘love thy neighbour’ shit for long.

“Feels good, right baby?”

“Uh huh--” He’s so worked up and crying so hard that he has to keep taking breaks to gasp and hiccup, his little flank wiggling around Vincent’s fingers, practically grinding like a bitch in heat. “It feel-- it feels good… daddy… Mn… It feels  _ weird _ \-- It’s weird, I don’t like it--”

The more that Vincent really starts to fuck his fingers into the kid, the more that Ciel starts whining and making those annoying protests of his. Daddy don’t this, daddy please that. Always with the fucking bitching and moaning, he knows Vincent hates that shit. Little slut must be trying to work him up for more. Must be. And it works, because Vincent’s fingers are shoving in and out of the kid enough to rock him on his shined little shoes.

“Daddy--!” Ciel shouts, makes a horrified little cry as he comes, and the tenuous, child-like control he has on his bladder fails. Vincent forces himself to slow his movements and watch as fat tears roll down Ciel’s cheeks, watch as he makes a wet puddle on the dirt between his feet despite his whimpers.  _ Fucking finally _ . Panting, the haze that flooded Vincent’s mind starts to ease a little, enough to realise that he’d essentially fucked Ciel senseless, and he  _ absolutely  _ can’t take him back inside like this.

“Fuck…” His fingers pull out of Ciel’s, making the kid yelp, his stream halting a moment only to continue full force. Leaving a puffy little hole all red rimmed and puckering up, tightened right back up again. “Dammit… Hey, baby boy, you okay? Talk to daddy.”   
  
“ ‘m okay…” he murmurs, but it’s only Vincent’s hold on him that’s keeping him upright. “Tired, daddy… can we go home…?”

Rachel’s going to throw a fucking fit all the way until next Sunday, but taking Ciel home is a better alternative to taking him back into that church while he’s barely conscious and his face is covered in red splotches from tears. Weighing up the pros and cons, the pros fall firmly in Ciel’s favour, especially since he can help his daddy take care of his little problem when they get back with mommy not home.

“Sure, baby, we can go home…” Crouching down, Vincent pulls up Ciel’s underwear, uses them to wipe off his fingers before fixing them back up over his hips, followed by those little white Sunday shorts. The boy can’t stay on his feet, so Vincent picks him up into his arms, balancing his sore little ass on his hip which makes Ciel fuss and nuzzle his face right into Vincent’s chest. It’s cute… Cuter than he’s managed to be all day. That definitely eases up his headache significantly.

*****

Ciel’s still dead asleep when the car pulls up in the garage, and Vincent leans over from the driver seat, brushing hair out of his face. Ciel’s lips are even softer when he’s sleeping, pulled into a pout. If Vincent’s dick had softened up on the ride home, it didn’t mean much now.

He doesn’t stir when he’s unbuckled from the car, pulled up into Vincent’s arms and cradled close to his body. Not when the car door slams shut, or even for the bumpy walk up the stairs. Practically dead to the world, as Vincent lays him down on his bed, and starts taking off his belt. 

Vincent  _ really _ feels how needy he is once he’s out of the confines of those damn pants, far too tight and choking. Leaving him swollen and a bruised purple in appearance. It’s pretty damn stark when he presses his head up against Ciel’s soft little lips, rubs himself between them, only to slip out of their cleft and rub up against his plump little baby cheeks. “Fuck, Ciel…” He mutters, reaching down to coax Ciel’s mouth open. “Come on… Daddy took such good care of you before, be a good boy and take care of daddy now…”

The first plunge into the heat of his mouth makes him groan, too tight around him so he can only fit his head in until Ciel’s teeth are making it difficult to move and he has to hook his thumb on Ciel’s lower jaw to pry his mouth open. “Open  _ up _ \--”

Ciel makes a little whimper of pain in his sleep, but he doesn’t manage much more than that because Vincent has finally pushed himself down into the back of his throat, moaning low and pleasured. “That’s it… good boy, Ciel, you’re so fucking  _ good _ \--” A few huffs, and he’s right down to the hilt with his balls rubbing up against Ciel’s chin, grinding in place there. His head falls against the bed frame, breath coming in worked-up huffs. He was so much  _ looser  _ when he was asleep, opened up so much better. When he was awake he made all those annoying little chokes and gags. Scratched at Vincent with his fucking little nails.

Slowly, so fucking slowly, he lets go of Ciel’s jaw to pull himself out of his throat, feeling the tightness of his mouth from hilt to tip. Those baby lips so soft and sweet around him that it sends a tremor down to his core.  _ Now  _ he’s starting to get hungry. Cursing under his breath, Vincent shifts on the bed to roll Ciel over onto his stomach, pushing the boy’s thighs together. “Fuck, baby, you’re gonna get daddy in so much trouble…”

He presses himself in between the gap of those coltish thighs, right under the hem of his little shorts. If his  _ lips _ were soft, then fuck if the skin of his legs aren’t enough to bring a man to sin. This was a Sunday tradition he could get fucking used to. Vincent’s mouth finds the back of Ciel’s neck, lips wrapping around one of the bumps of his spine to suck at it as he thrusts between the kid’s thighs. It’d leave a nasty little welt, one that wouldn’t go away for a good long while, and Rachel would throw a fucking fit about it, but right now that doesn’t matter. Not when Ciel’s making mewls like a kitten in his sleep and his tired hands are clutching at one of the plushies he’d been rolled onto to angle his hips up.

“You like making daddy feel good, don’t you?” Vincent’s voice is a low growl in Ciel’s ear, breathless from how aggressively he snaps his hips. “You love it… because you’re daddy’s little slut. That’s all you’ll ever be. Daddy’s perfect little whore.” The boy doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t have to. Vincent doesn’t need his fucking permission or his approval. “You want daddy to come, don’t you baby? You want him to feel good, don’t you? Fuck,  _ Ciel _ \--”

He forgot about the kid’s  _ fucking _ Sunday suit. Damn lucky that one of Ciel’s plushies soaks up the worst of the mess, and what he grinds back against Ciel’s skin only slicks up under the hem of his shorts instead of onto them. Vincent’s teeth sink right down into Ciel’s neck to smother his sounds, biting at the tender flesh and making Ciel whimper again. “Oh honey… You’re such a good fucking little boy…”

Sighing, Vincent slips out from between his thighs, lets his cock hang heavy and tired as he flips Ciel back over to start undressing him. He’d hand them over to Tanaka, get him to clean them properly. Tell him that the kid is sick so he doesn’t go poking his head in and see Ciel all covered in his daddy’s come. “Good little boy… You sleep now, okay?”

But Ciel stirs slightly when Vincent moves to take his shirt off, because he has to lift the kid for it. “Daddy…?”

“Shh. Back to sleep, Ciel.” When the kid is naked, he lays him back down, strokes his hair to push it out from his eyes. So soft and confused, face all flushed, parting his soft little lips again as he drifts back to sleep.

“Daddy’s got you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I tweet about Sebaciel sometimes. You can find me @noncon_pdf


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